


Blood

by ActiveAggression



Series: Soulmate's Thoughts Universe [7]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: But I didn't name them after his actual kids or anything cause that would be weird, Dad Ryan, M/M, Murder, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Student Michael, Student Ray, murder friends Geoff Ryan and Michael
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2018-11-19 16:57:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11317713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ActiveAggression/pseuds/ActiveAggression
Summary: Ray's pretty excited for his soulmark to show up, until it does."‘Blood,’ is what it says. Ray reads it and can’t help feeling it’s something horrible. It could be anything though. It could be something totally innocent; a paper cut...It moves then, shifts into a jumble of letters before forming, 'get rid of the body.'"





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, unless you've read an earlier work in this series there will be some confusing terms in this. You do not need to read the rest of the series. All the works are seperate. They're only linked by the idea of soulmate identifying marks. 
> 
> "Soulmarks" are the soulmate identifying marks. They show up as the thoughts of your soulmate and change. Not all thoughts show up. Just random ones. 
> 
> "Prox" is slang for "proximise" which is when two soulmates get close enough that their soulmarks become focused around thoughts of the other person only. 
> 
> Easy peasy, don't think i've missed anything.
> 
> Perspective changes from Michael to Ray

On Ray’s 18th birthday, he’d insists there doesn’t need to be any theatrics. He doesn’t need a party, he doesn’t need presents, he doesn’t need anything. His mother buys him presents anyway and fusses over him until he has to nearly shove her out of his room.

He doesn’t need any of that. Not right now, when there’s a tingling in his wrist that makes him shake with anticipation. What he really needs is his soulmark to come in. It’s fairly common knowledge that seventy percent of the population get one on their 18th birthday. He thinks, with the tingling and all, that he’s definitely going to get his. He’s going to be a part of the seventy percent and it’s thrilling - even more thrilling is that he won't be part of the two percent who don’t get theirs on their 18th or before.

He’s seen two percenters around town. They always look so worn down and ragged. The old lady at the end of their street still doesn’t have hers and the only thing that seems to keep her going is that one day she might.

Ray does not want to end up like that.

Red starts to swoop over his arm, slowly splotches ink themselves into his skin. He’s not part of the two percent. Here are his words - his soulmark - appearing for him. 

A shaky ‘B’ appears, streaky and hesitant like maybe it’s got the wrong arm. It solidifies slowly into bright bloody red and Ray wonders what that means. He’s never seen words that colour before; black’s the usual, brown fairly common too, but when a mark is red it’s usually pretty light. Not his though.

The words fill themselves in further, sliding across his arm like water. Ray notices the writing only slightly before he notices what is actually being spelled out. The writing is the kind of thing he’d expect to see in a horror movie, smeared across the wall in achingly obvious red. It shakes a little, the up and downs being drawn out like cuts. It looks like the handwriting of a fucking crazy person.

‘Blood,’ is what it says. Ray reads it and can’t help feeling it’s something horrible. It could be anything though. It could be something totally innocent; a paper cut...

It moves then, shifts into a jumble of letters before forming, 'get rid of the body.'

“Ah, fuck.”

 

A crime has been committed. That much is abundantly clear. It’s been progressing over his arm for hours, moving on from thoughts of having to hide the body to  _ actually doing it. _ Ray’s sure he should do something like call the fucking police but also isn’t sure what he would say. ‘I’m pretty sure my soulmate murdered someone, my arm told me,’ sounds like something that would be hard to prove and hard to even talk about. He doesn't think soulmates can even testify against each other. 

He’s busy freaking out inside when his mum comes up to find him.

“What’s wrong honey? Didn’t you get them?” she asks, worried, from the doorway. He shoves his sleeve back down and shakes his head violently.  

“No ma, I didn’t get them,” he lies. It’s better this way. He wishes he fucking hadn’t got them.

His mother is devastated for him, so sympathetic and worrying. She fucking ushers him downstairs and makes him sit down while she fills a plate with food, like mashed potatoes are going to fix him. His dad keeps shooting him concerned looks over the dinner table.  

“I’m fine,” he tells them through a mouthful of peas, though he’s not, but it’s not for the reason they think; his soulmate has almost certainly just murdered someone, whether intentionally or not.  

He excuses himself from the table early and rushes up the stairs, into his headphones and calls Michael. Michael will know what to do. 

It takes Michael a few rings to pick up. 

“Yo?” he asks from over the phone line and Ray lets out a shuddering breath that Michael probably catches through the phone.

“I think my soulmate’s a murderer,” he blurts and Michael bellows out coarse laughter for a good ten seconds before he realises Ray isn’t laughing and trails off.

“Why do you think that?” cautiously comes through.

“The second thought on me was, ‘get rid of the body’. Michael, I’m destined to be with a killer!” Ray whisper shouts into the phone.

“It could be something totally innocent,” Michael reasons and Ray groans at his friend’s optimism... which is super weird to think about. Michael is the most anti-optimistic person there is. He hates the guy who works at their gas station because he 'smiles too much. It's fucking creepy.' 

“It’s more likely it’s not!” he actually yells and Michael goes quiet for a while.

“How much does it bother you?” Michael finally asks, sounding hesitant and worried. Ray takes a second to pull his phone away from his ear and stare at it; what the fuck kind of question is that?

“How - what? What the hell Michael?”

“It’s just a question,” Michael defends and Ray pauses to think about it. His soulmate has killed someone probably and he’s destined to be with this murderer so, “it bothers me a fuck load Michael, Jesus!”

Michael’s silent for another long while.

“I gotta go,” he mumbles and then the call ends.

 

* * *

 

Michael stares down at his phone, the ‘end call’ screen active for a second before blinking out and leaving them in darkness.

“Michael, what the fuck! Need light down here!” Geoff yells from their almost finished pit.

“Yeah, course,” he mumbles, fumbling the torch on and aiming it down, illuminating Geoff’s mess of hair and Ryan’s freaky skull mask.

Geoff turns back around with a sarcastic, “thankyou,” catches sight of Ryan and jumps back against the dirt walls with a yell.

“When the fuck did you get in here?” he yells, brandishing his shovel, “you almost gave me a heart attack.”

Ryan says nothing, as always, and gives a little casual shrug - undaunted by the threat of shovel bashing. Geoff scrubs a hand over his face and sighs.

“Chuck the guy down here already,” he mutters. Michael gives one last look at his phone before kicking the body down into the hole and helping Geoff out. He struggles a little, and when Geoff’s finally out and he looks back up, Ryan’s already out somehow, watching him silently from the other side of the hole.

Geoff groans and stumbles a bit away, shoving his shovel at Michael, “phone call earned you first dirt moving shift,” he growls, pulling a flask of whiskey out of nowhere and collapsing to the ground.  

Michael lets the shovel lean against him and sighs heavily, “My soulmate knows I killed the guy,” he declares to no one in particular.

Geoff laughs from his crumpled pile of limbs, “technically, it was Ryan.”

“Fine. My soulmate knows I helped hide a body.”

“Oh please, you’ve done shit to help,” Geoff mutters, “dig!”

Michael glares back at him but turns anyway to shovel dirt into the hole.

“I can kill him if you want,” Michael hears and turns to look back at Geoff, despite knowing that very much wasn’t Geoff’s voice. The man is unmoving, dead to the world and Michael turns back to find Ryan on his side of the hole and way too close. 

“Kill who?” he asks, pretending to be okay with the closeness… and Ryan’s first words to either of them being  _ that _ .

“The problematic soulmate,” Ryan says and Michael gives him a hard look.

“Did you kill yours?” he asks. Ryan pauses for a moment too long and shakes his head.

“Don’t have one yet.”  

“Really?”

Michael knows some people don’t get theirs by eighteen and he knows that he doesn’t know exactly how old Ryan is but it’s way older than him, so not having one sounds kind of unrealistic.  Ryan says nothing, which Michael takes as some kind of silent cue to not ask stupid questions that have already been answered. He shovels some more dirt on top of the body and sighs.

“Would you kill them?”

“Could I kill them?” Ryan asks back and Geoff chuckles from his spot on the grass.

“Would you, could you anywhere!” he shouts into the night air drunkenly.

Michael knows Ryan is giving Geoff a weird look, even with the mask. “Green eggs and ham,” he says, just in case Ryan doesn’t know.  

“I know,” Ryan says, “I have kids.”

Michael freezes. He said it in such a nonchalant way, like Michael should’ve known about the kids - kids! Ryan has kids!? - and he slowly turns to look at Ryan.

“You have kids!?”

Ryan shrugs, “lonely without a soul mate,” he mutters and kicks more dirt in the slowly filling hole.

“Who’s the lucky girl?” Michael asks, knowing his voice is strangled. He can’t help feeling strangely violated by the admission. 

“Dead.”  

There’s no indication of a follow up. Ryan just keeps pushing more and more dirt into the grave. Michael would fucking appreciate a follow up. A little comment like, ‘natural causes’ or ‘car accident’ or even a simple ‘No I did not kill the mother of my children’. Instead he gets nothing but deep unwavering silence.

“Ah,” he says, deciding to remain quiet for the rest of the night, possibly never talk to Ryan again.

 

* * *

 

It’s past two in the morning when Ray’s phone starts buzzing from under his pillow. He throws his x-box controller down and dives for it, fumbling with the fabric and finally pressing it to his ear with a, “Michael?”

“You okay?” Michael asks and Ray scowls at nothing in particular.

“No, I’m not okay! I tell you my soulmate potentially killed someone and you just leave! What the hell Michael?”

“I was busy,” Michael mutters, sounding resigned and tired but not exactly repentant.

“With what?”

“Geoff and I were-”

“Geoff? You were busy having sex? Michael! This is a crisis! Sex is not as important!” Ray yells before remembering his parents and lowering his voice, “I needed you for this.”

“Sex?” Michael asks incredulously, “me and Geoff aren’t having sex!”

Ray pauses, “then why are you guys always so secretive?”

This time Michael pauses, probably unsure on how to answer. “Because he’s a drug dealer,” Michael finally blurts and Ray hears hushed whispers and some kind of smacking sound through the phone. 

“Are you still with him?”

“Uh- no… I mean yes! I am with Geoff right now,” Michael affirms.

“Dealing drugs?”

“No…” Michael says but it sounds more like a question. He'd be a terrible criminal. 

Ray pulls his phone away from his face to glare at it, and then glare past it at a picture of him and Michael hanging on the wall. He can’t actually see it through the dark, but he has a pretty fucking good idea of where it is. 

“Fuck you Michael. When you have something truthful to say, I’m here. Waiting,” he growls and hangs up, throwing his phone to the other side of his bed.

 

* * *

 

“Maybe he’s not your soulmate,” Geoff suggests, watching Michael’s soulmark with him. He’s still slurring his speech but his suggestion is surprisingly well supported.

“I was so sure though,” Michael says, feeling lost. He doesn’t care much that it’s not Ray - he’d always felt weird about it being Ray - but he thought he’d really eliminated anyone else as a possibility. 

Geoff pats the floor beside Michael, in what Michael assumes is an attempt to pat his knee. “You’ll find them,” Geoff tells him, somewhat supportively.

“I was so sure,” Michael repeats but he knows it can’t be Ray. Ray had been so horrified by the murder and his soulmate. There’s absolutely no way what he’s thinking about is what’s tattooed on Michael’s arm.

‘want to cover him in doritos and chew off each and every one.’

Geoff squints at his arm some more. “Are we sure it’s not him?”

Michael laughs, depressed, “definitely not.”

“At least this one doesn’t know you murdered someone,” Geoff reminds him. Michael nods but can’t help but feel that would be better than this; not knowing.

 

Michael’s leaving when Ryan pulls him aside, mask shining ominously in the moonlight. 

“What are the chances?” he asks and Michael desperately tries to remember maths class when they had the dice lessons. Ryan doesn’t seem perturbed that he can’t answer.

“Your friend gets a soulmark about murder and despite the murder tonight, his soulmate isn’t you,” Ryan continues. It’s the most Michael’s heard him speak and it takes a moment to get over that before he even processes what Ryan’s talking about.

“Either there were two murders tonight,” Michael surmises, “or…” ‘He is my soulmate?’ he thinks.

“He’s mine,” Ryan interrupts, shrugging his leather jacket off. Underneath it is a black t-shirt, thick with under armour.

“What?” Michael asks but Ryan’s showing him his wrist and the soulmark there.

It says, ‘murderer,’ harshly and Michael stares. 

“I thought you said you didn’t have one.”

“I didn’t.”

Michael stares at the masked man before him and thinks ‘oh shit’ because he does not want Ray ever meeting this part of his life. Especially Ryan… who he’s sure is crazy. Not crazy like a little out there, but  _crazy_ like 'kills people and thinks it's fun.'  

“I-” Michael begins, unsure what he’s going to say but probably something like ‘no, you can’t go near him.’

“I need to meet him,” Ryan interrupts. He sounds a little insane, but insane isn’t new for Ryan.

“Are you going to kill him?” 

“No. You can’t kill your soulmate.”

“Technically you can…”

“But I can’t.”

“You haven’t met him. Believe me, an hour and you’ll want to kill him,” Michael jokes. It doesn't sound nearly as funny when it's actually out of his mouth. 

Ryan pauses. Michael would think he was contemplating the truth of it if he didn’t know that pause. It’s the same silence Ryan had before tonight. The same silence Ryan kept for over a year of rough, excruciatingly planned out group murders.

“Why didn’t you talk?” he asks, “before?”

“Scarier that way. Isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Michael laughs, “it is.”

There’s an even longer pause. Michael thinks maybe it’s an indication that he should leave. Maybe Ryan forgot about the whole soulmate thing and is moving on and Michael should just fucking leave before he remembers again.

“I shouldn’t meet him, should I?” 

Michael jolts at being asked for advice by  _ Ryan _ . He almost sounds sad about it, but it’s always hard to tell what Ryan’s thinking and Michael just doesn’t know. What he does know is that he can’t introduce this part of his life to Ray, and Ryan sits squarely in that part.

“You’re a murderer,” Michael reminds him, like he doesn’t know. Ryan nods, sharply and just once. Michael blinks and he disappears, like he never really existed in the first place. Maybe that’d be for the best.

 

* * *

 

 

“Michael,” Ray grouses as his friend walks up the concrete stairs outside the front of their school. Michael’s got his head down, curls bouncing limply with each step.

“I’m sorry about the other day,” he mutters as he passes, absolutely unable to meet Ray’s eyes. Ray struggles to follow him, taking two steps for every long one Michael takes.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Is this the drug thing?”

Michael stops mid stride, catching Ray by the strap of his bag as he almost falls past. “There’s no drug thing. I just… didn’t know what to say. Geoff’s just a friend. I thought you wouldn’t approve.”

“Oh,” Ray relents, unsure. He put on his only long sleeved shirt today, desperate to cover the mark that was still there this morning no matter how much he didn’t want it to be. “What’s wrong then?”

“It’s your mark,” Michael admits, grimacing.

“Right, like holy fuck. I got a murderer-”

“Not that. I just… I thought you were mine,” he gestures to his wrist, “for the longest time. Didn’t know how I felt about it but I sure felt better about you than not knowing.”

Ray glances at Michael’s wrist and freaks out - just a bit. “You thought it was  _ me? _ ”

“Yeah and last night obviously disproved that so, now I have to figure it out all over again.” Michael sighs and eyes Ray’s wrist cautiously. “What’s he thinking about now?” 

“It’s not necessarily a he.”

Michael winces, “could be though. How bout until we know, we just say that. Easier that way.”

“I don’t see how-” 

“Just let me see.”

Ray pulls the sleeve of his shirt up and Michael leans to look at it.

‘Brick.’

“Huh.”

“Huh is right. There was a bunch of things about a murder last night and now it’s just this.”

“Brick?”

“It changes. It was tree earlier. I think he’s trying to think about random shit so I don’t know what he’s doing,” Ray mutters. He’d been trying to figure it out all morning, how it’d changed to one word objects from the long gory sentences from last night.

“Maybe he’s not killing someone now,” Michael suggests, loudly and Ray shushes him angrily. 

“No one can know about this,” he hisses.

 “What are you going to do?” Michael asks and isn’t that the question. Ray has no idea. He’s been thinking on it but can’t come up with much.

“I don’t know, but i’m freaking out like what if he can somehow use my thoughts to find me and then he tries to kill me. Cause I know too much.”

“I don’t know if you can kill your soulmate,” Michael reassures stupidly.

“Yes you can. Remember Lindsay and Meg from the year below?”

Michael squints. “Not really.”

“Meg tried to kill Lindsay. Like ‘stab her to death’ kill and she almost succeeded. She’s in jail, you know.”

“Well, I’m sure your soulmate can’t kill you.”

“You mean won’t,” Ray correct, “he won't kill me. Cause he won’t find me.”

“Well maybe he can’t too,” Michael defends, though he has no idea why he’s trying to defend his psychopath colleague... group member... murder buddy?

Ray pauses, grimaces like he’s not sure what to say and glances unsurely at Michael, “were you ever going to tell me?” he asks.

“What?”

“That you thought I was your soulmate.”

Michael balks at the change of topic, “I was going to when you got yours. Seems that worked out, didn’t it?”

“I guess,” Ray agrees, though he doesn’t. “Who do you think it is then?”

“Fuck,” Michael groans, “I don’t know.”

Ray knows he doesn’t want to forgive Michael so easily, but he also knows he can’t stay angry when Michael looks as despairing as he is about this.

“I’m sure you’ll find them.”

“Yeah,” Michael sighs but then his eyes catch on something behind Ray. They go from sleepy morning Michael to fucking huge - honestly he looks like he’s about to throw up. 

“Wha-?” Ray begins, turning to look where Michael is looking and Michael freaks.

“We’ve gotta go to class,” Michael snaps, grabbing Ray’s backpack strap firmly and dragging him along as he enters the building. Ray strains to see what Michael was looking at but before he can, the walls of the school are in the way and he slumps. 

What had Michael seen?

 

* * *

 

Michael’s out of his class with Ray within seconds, and on the roof within minutes. There’s a couple already there, making out, but the moment they see Michael’s expression they bolt for the door. They probably recognised him anyway from reputation.

Michael’s phone screen cracks in Michael’s grip as he pulls it from his pocket. He glares at the cracking and then glares at Ryan’s number as he struggles to slow his shaking enough to actually land his finger on it. Finally he does though, and the phone doesn’t even ring before Ryan’s picking up.

“Michael,” he acknowledges.

“What the fuck Ryan?” Michael starts, knowing this is about the right way to get killed when talking to Ryan and not caring, “you said you would stay away! Did you follow me!?”

Ryan’s silent for a moment too long, “Did Geoff know you’re still in high school?” he questions. 

“That’s not the point-”

“Did Geoff know!?” Ryan growls and Michael hates how the man’s turned the tables within seconds. 

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t expect that,” Ryan admits, angrily, “I followed you to the school and I was surprised. It’s hard to surprise me Michael.”

“I keep a low profile.” 

“That kid you were talking to,” Ryan starts, snarling around the word ‘kid’, “was that my soulmate?”

Michael wants to lie and say Ray isn’t. Michael wants to lie, like he always does, like he’s good at, but his throat constricts around the words and he hesitates. He goddamn hesitates. “...No.”

 Ryan growls again and there’s the sound of something breaking through the phone.

“I said it wasn’t a good idea to meet him,” Michael reminds.

“No you didn’t! I said that. What is he, thirteen?”

“He’s eighteen.” 

“It was his birthday yesterday?”

“Yeah.”

 “Fuck!” Ryan rages, “nine fucking years. I can’t do that.”

“Well yeah no,” Michael cuts in, “You can’t and you aren’t. Remember? We agreed it’s a totally shit idea for you to meet him? Like really terrible? Like holy fucking shit Ryan, he knows you’re a murderer. You literally cannot do that.”

Ryan’s silent for a moment and then Michael’s phone starts beeping. Ryan hung up.

 

* * *

 

Michael thought, or well at least  _ hoped  _ that this whole Ray Ryan thing was done and he wasn’t going to have to hear about it ever again. Alas, it could never be that easy.

 

“Throw a party,” Ryan suggests as he saws into the arm of yet another of their victims.

 Michael glances over his shoulder at the other two bodies, already in unrecognisable pieces and blanches a little. He’d never thought he was squeamish before.

“Is this really necessary?” he questions.

“No,” Geoff groans from where he’s hunched over the toilet. It’s probably a mixture of the whiskey and the severing of body parts, but Michael’s never seen Geoff so green.

“Yes,” Ryan deadpans, “we want to be discrete for as long as possible.”

“You killed four people. How is that discrete?”

Ryan doesn’t answer, blood spattering onto his mask as he cuts into an artery. 

“And what do you mean a party?” Michael questions, mind circling back.

“I mean a part- look, would you help with the last body? It would be done much faster that way.” 

“No way man. Not happening.” Michael shakes his head, steps back and retches just a tad at the idea. He gets the feeling Ryan’s rolling his eyes behind the mask but he doesn’t care. 

“Squeamish?” he asks, snapping  _ something  _ in half and Michael tries to ignore what that something could be.

“No. I’m not. What was that about a party?”

“Throw one.”

“What? No. I’m not a party person.”

Ryan gets up, squares his shoulders and is in Michael’s personal space way too quickly.

“Erm,” Michael gulps.

“You will have a party, and you will force my soulmate to go to it.”

Michael glares and is about to spit out a ‘no’ when Ryan’s machete glints in the dark - in his fucking hand and Michael hadn’t even noticed that - and the blood lingering along it patters to the floor.

“It would be unwise of you to refuse,” Ryan warns. 

‘Patter patter pat,’ the blood agrees.

“I thought you didn’t want to meet him,” Michael hisses.

“I don’t,” Ryan shrugs, “but I do want to prox.”

Slang coming from Ryan's mouth is weird... hell, Ryan saying anything is weird. Michael’s brow furrows in so hard he can feel it pressing into his skull like a headache, “but to prox you could need to actually touch him. You can’t force it to happen from a distance.”

“Throw the party Michael,” Ryan commands him and turns to saw another body part into bone dust.

Michael doesn’t think he can refuse. Michael doesn’t think anyone can refuse Ryan. He has to throw a party.

What the fuck is his fucking life?


	2. Chapter 2

“Why exactly are you throwing a party?” Ray asks, because Michael doesn’t really like people and really doesn’t like parties. Last time Michael was at a party, he made a group of girls cry - not surprising considering that was ten years ago, but the point still stands. 

“Just- felt like it,” Michael mutters, glaring at the fruit juice on the counter in front of him, “how do you make punch?”

Ray looks down, equally bewildered by the fruit and alcohol, “I don’t know. I don’t even drink.”

Laughter comes from the doorway and they both turn. Geoff stands there, grinning, “that is why I’m here.”  

“Sure you’re not sleeping with him?” Ray asks sullenly; he’s never particularly cared for Geoff.

“I,” Geoff interrupts, striding towards the mix of alcohol, “actually already have a lady - not that Michael isn’t gorgeous - but Griffon’s not one for sharing.”

“You have a girlfriend?” Ray asks as Michael grins and tells Geoff to say hello for him.

“Yes I do,” Geoff agrees, looking equally puzzled by the assortment of ingredients on the table. He starts mixing things together though, so Ray assumes he knows what he’s doing.

  

Ray turns out to be wrong. Geoff did not know what he was doing with the punch. It had looked okay. It had smelled… palatable. But then people show up and start trying to drink it. Big mistake. Everyone who takes one, takes one sip and immediately finds somewhere to vomit. Ray takes to sitting on the counter beside the punch bowl so he can watch the antics.

He’s watching another kid rush off with his glass of punch when a freakishly thin kid comes up to the bowl. He considers it with a small head tilt one way and then the other. It reminds Ray of seagulls trying to figure out if they’re looking at something edible or not. Not, in this case.

Bird boy seems to lack basic seagull sense and happily pours himself a glass. Ray almost goes to warn him against it, but the guy’s already drinking it.

“Bloody hell,” he grins at Ray, “that’s top.” He pours himself another glass and bobs awkwardly to the music, looking much like an oompa loompa.

“You like it?” Ray asks, skeptically.

“Absolutely,” the guy affirms, extending a hand.

Ray stares at it.

“You’re meant to shake it,” the guy says, wobbling his hand at Ray.

“You haven’t even introduced yourself,” Ray counters.

“Oh, I’m Gavin. And you’re Ray, I know.”

Ray raises an eyebrow, but shakes the hand regardless.

“How do you know?”

“We go to the same school. I have this massive crush on your friend - the angry one.”

“I only have one friend,” Ray mutters, before what Gavin had said actually resonates with him. “You like Michael?”

“Yeah. He’s all… dorito-y.”

“What?”

“I’m not sure. I just like him. Think he might be the one here,” Gavin babbles, pulling his sleeve up to reveal, ‘fucking Ryan being a fucking psychopathic dickweed.’

“Who’s Ryan?”

“I’m not sure. He didn’t show up much until recently. He must’ve really pissed Michael off though. Like half the time it’s Michael cursing the guy and the rest of the time he’s just fucking scared of him.” 

“You’re sure it’s Michael?” Ray asks. He can’t quite imagine Michael being scared of anyone.

“Pretty sure. We proxed ages ago. He like, ran into me and my wrist did this lurch thing. He’s fucking solid though, ain’t he? Dislocated my bloody shoulder! By accident! That was mental. He’s angry bout everything though. It all comes up here,” Gavin gestures, holding up his wrist, “I can never quite find the time to tell him though.”

Ray swallows awkwardly around his own spit, staring at the kid. He can’t quite figure out what his accent is trying to be. British maybe, in a severely fucked up way. Ray is equally having trouble figuring out what the fuck Gavin is attempting to say. Something about Michael, he thinks, and soulmates?

“Maybe we could find him now,” Ray suggests, “I could introduce you.”

“Really,” Gavin exclaims, “that would be fabtastic!”

Ray hesitates then, thinking Michael will probably get sick of Gavin within minutes. Then, somewhat spitefully, he decides he’d quite like it if Michael went through some mental anguish.

 

“Ray,” he hears, and there’s Michael.

“Speak of the devil,” he mutters, noticing out of the corner of his eye how wide Gavin’s eyes have become.

Michael looks seriously worried, “have you been approached by anyone?” he asks quickly, eyes darting around the room.

Ray glances at Gavin. “Yeah.”

“Who?” Michael demands, getting way too close.

“This guy,” Ray answers, jerking his head at Gavin, who gapes at both of them.

“Oh,” Michael says, visibly relaxing, “that’s okay.”

“I’m Gavin,” Gavin interrupts, shyly.

“Yeah, okay?” Michael asks in the same tone he would use to say ‘why the fuck are you still here.’

Gavin visibly shrinks.

“Gavin here,” Ray grins, “thinks he’s got you on his wrist. Think you might want to talk about that.”

Michael’s mouth drops like he’s about to say something snarky automatically, but then the words register and he turns to stare at the Brit.

“Oh,” he finally mutters. He doesn’t seem mad or disappointed but he does seem overwhelmed like he has too much going on already and isn’t sure how to deal with this too.

Gavin shifts from one foot to the other unsurely.

 “Show me?” Michael requests and his voice has gone soft in a way Ray’s literally never heard.  

“I’m just gonna go,” Ray interjects, getting an absent nod from Michael as he yanks Gavin’s sleeve up and glares at the words. Gavin’s looking more and more worried, but Ray just smiles reassuringly at him. He knows Michael’s anger glares and this isn’t one. He’s proven right as Michael shoves his own sleeve up, something dorito-y written there and laughs. Ray laughs at the thumbs up Gavin gives him behind Michael’s back as he’s pulled into a potentially bone crushing hug.

Ray quickly leaves the two of them.

 

He also leaves the party. Not the house - it’s where he’s staying. But he traipses around the edges of the room, trying to avoid being dragged into any conversations. He’s helped along by everyone else also trying to avoid having conversations with him. A couple of girls sneer at him as he passes and he blinks back at them, wondering if they think he cares (he doesn’t).

Eventually he reaches the bottom of the staircase and it calls to him temptingly until finally he shrugs at the room of drunk teenagers and climbs it. He finds his way into the shitty guest room he always uses and thinks maybe he should just go to sleep. Parties have never really been his thing and it’s almost to the point where the people downstairs are too drunk to be amusing anyway.

He gets into the bed, fully clothed in his jeans and t-shirt. Twenty minutes later, he snuggles further into the blanket, almost asleep when he hears Michael’s voice.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he hisses outside the door. He sounds pissed, sort of, but still worried like he was earlier. “Where’s Ray gone.” 

“I have no idea where your friend has gone. I couldn’t even figure out which of your dumb underage friends he was.”

“Oh fucking sure you couldn’t,” Michael rages unbelieving. “Seriously, I can’t find him and he doesn’t just wander off-”

“Drunk people wander off all the time,” whoever he’s with dismisses and Ray hears Michael sigh - can picture him running a stressed hand through his hair. It occurs to him that he should go clarify that he is still here, but despite being about him, the conversation seems dauntingly private and he can’t really be arsed moving.

“Ray doesn’t drink.”

There’s a long pause.

“I swear Michael, I haven’t touched your-”

There’s a loud bang from downstairs, some cheering and Ray can make out the sound of footsteps rapidly rushing up the stairs. “Michael,” says a distraught British voice, “I think Geoff’s passed out.”

There’s a loud rumbling as they stampede down the stairs and Ray pillows his head in his arms and lets sleep take him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter, I know. Next one will be longer.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A meeting.

The weekend passes like a blur and Ray finds he has no recollection of Monday when he awakens midway through last period on Tuesday, Michael jabbing him in the side. 

“What?” 

“You haven’t moved all class.” 

“I think i’ve been asleep,” Ray admits, yawning and rubbing his eyes with the backs of his hands. 

“All class?” 

“All day.” 

If Michael finds this unusual, he doesn’t say anything. The bell rings and he’s gone in a rush of furrowed eyebrows and some speech about ‘British idiots who can’t even tie their fucking laces without help’. Ray blinks at where Michael was a second ago and gives up on his brain actually processing the entire string of words. Instead he packs up slowly and his wrist twinges. 

He glares at it. It does it again. He shoots a surreptitious look up front at where the teacher’s still puttering around and slides up his sleeve to see. 

‘Bleeding,’ sits there. Ray’s a little surprised. His soulmate had been very particular about foliage and colours and random inanimate objects that offered no view into something like say…  _ crime _ . 

The words bleed into, ‘fucking stupid kids’. Ray thinks he might throw up. Instead he pushes his sleeve back down and with a quick nauseous glance at his teacher, leaves the room.

 

Ray walks home every day, but on Tuesdays he stops off at the grocery store for his mum. He doesn’t think anything of it, at first, but as he starts the long trek back to his house, his mind wanders. 

What if his soulmate finds him? And kills him? And tortures him? And pulls his skin off? 

Ray glances fearfully down the street. How could fate possibly think Ray was a perfect match with a  _ murderer!? _ A possible  _ child murderer  _ at that. 

The grocery store approaches like a beacon of light. The street had been feeling more and more murdery the longer he’d remained on it and he’s gonna have the catch the bus from now on. Damnit. 

Ray bolts through the carpark when he hears a dog bark down the street. It could be a murder dog, he justifies, but feels silly enough to slow his pace to a light stroll by the time he actually gets within range of the door’s sensors. Regardless, he is panting when he steps into the air conditioned coolness. 

“Ray?” a worker asks and it takes Ray a moment to realise he knows the person talking to him.

“Lindsay?” 

“Hey,” she smiles, “you okay?” 

“Oh yeah. Totally fine. Just awesome, in fact.” 

“You sprinted in here,” she points out, as if Ray doesn’t fucking know that. 

“Yeah,” he agrees, “gotta get that exercise in.” 

Lindsay smiles unsurely and Ray worries she’ll try to talk to him some more, which he really can’t handle because she is the embodiment of his problem right now. He knows Lindsay is avoided at school because of it, and feels a little bad but can’t bring himself to face the girl who was almost killed by her own soulmate. 

She moves off, watching him sadly. Ray tries to make her feel better with a smile, but realises with the state he’s in, he probably looks closer to constipated. Whatever. 

Ray grabs a basket and wanders into the veg section. This is something he can actually handle, he thinks. His mum had written him a list but he lost it on the way to school and doesn’t really remember anything on it. As such, Ray tries to guess. 

He has two eggplants, a pineapple, a bunch of coriander and a lemon by the time he leaves the aisle, walking around the corner and into another person. Ray almost falls but the man he’d almost trampled catches Ray by the front of his shirt before he can acquaint himself with the floor. 

“I’m okay,” Ray breathes, heart hammering in his chest. The guy who caught him nods, smiling warmly and fuck is he pretty though. Ray grins back, because he can’t bring himself not to smile in the face of perfection. This is, of course, when his shirt rips and he falls to the floor with a thud. The man stares down at him, eyes wide, as Ray’s shirt hangs from his hand. 

He offers Ray a hand up and simultaneously his shirt as if not sure which he should address first - Ray being on the floor or Ray being shirtless. Ray’s equally puzzled by which to accept first and grabs both. 

“It’s done for,” the man who’d caught him comments when Ray’s back on his feet.

Ray nods at that, staring forlornly at his shirt. His basket sits just as dejectedly at his feet.

“Here,” he hears and then he’s being handed the soft grey hoodie he recognises from the unbelievable shoulders of the man himself. 

“Thanks man,” Ray mutters, not entirely okay with taking the guy’s clothing but definitely less okay with being shirtless. He’s only just got it on when something barrels into his legs and he falls again. The guy doesn’t manage to catch him this time and can only watch as Ray thumps into the linoleum. 

“Shit,” the child who ran into him curses, glancing guiltily upwards. He’s got the same blonde hair as the man still standing above them and a pink bandage trying to obscure half his forehead. The guy blinks down at Ray, the kid and sighs. 

“We don’t swear,” he sighs, “and we definitely don’t maim people.” 

“Sorry dad,” the kid whispers sadly. 

The guy raises an eyebrow and looks pointedly at Ray. The kid turns as well.  “Sorry.” 

“That’s fine,” Ray answers, scratching his wrist which is twinging fiercely under his newly acquired grey sleeve.

Another kid runs in from the end of the aisle. She’s dark haired and freckles decorate her face. Her eyes dart back and forth between Captain America Incarnate, cutest kid ever and Ray. 

Ray’s starting to think maybe she’s also a part of this family of beautiful people and she’ll start dragging an equally attractive wife/mother out of the greeting cards section but instead her confusion melts into the evilest grin Ray has ever seen on a child. And he’s seen both of the Conjuring movies.

“Did you trip him?” she asks, seemingly delighted. “Dad, Sam  _ tripped  _ someone,” she continues, her eyes huge and her voice expressing just how terrible a sin tripping someone is. “I think I have a fitting punishment.” 

Ray almost laughs, turns to see her father’s face and then actually laughs. The guy looks fairly shocked, holding the hand of the blonde boy as he simultaneously glares and pouts at his sister. 

“Oh do you?” the father asks, amusement clear in his voice. He shares a quick entertained - and downright adorable - look with Ray, before turning back to his daughter. 

“I think I should get his candy pri- privel- candy for the week,” she decides and the little boy - Sam - glares harder and starts using some colourful language in his argument as to why that’s complete bull- a short guilty look up at his father - ships, thank you very much. 

Normally Ray hates kids. Or rather he finds them gross and kind of annoying and he has absolutely  _ no idea _ what he’s doing with them. But these kids - this entire situation really - is just so fucking adorable. 

“Maybe,” their father suggests, “the one who Sam tripped should decide a fitting punishment.” 

With that three pairs of eyes turn to look at Ray. It is at this point that he realises he’s still sprawled out on the floor and quickly gets to his feet. The little boy looks so sad, like he thinks Ray’s about to betray him and the girl looks much the same way. The dad just looks at him as if to say ‘fucking help me.’ 

“I think,” Ray begins, “that it was an accident. And really everyone is feeling bad enough as it is… so extra candy for everyone may be called for.” 

The kids light up at that, Sam clutching at the blue jeans wrapped around his father’s leg and the girl racing down the aisle to do the same thing to Ray. 

“Now Holly,” the guy laughs, trying to pry Sam away from his leg and into his arms, “if you don’t let go of him, he might rescind his extremely generous punishment.”

The little girl - Holly - lets go of Ray like he’s on fire, but does try and worm her hand into his. Ray’s far to overwhelmed to really respond and her father picks her up before she can quite make it. He balances one child on each hip, teasing them about being too old and heavy for this.

Ray has no idea how, but he’s finally beginning to understand what a DILF is. 

“I’m Ryan,” the guy says, attempting to hold out a hand and quickly giving up as Holly starts to slip from his grip. 

“Ray,” he answers and something akin to shock travels over Ryan’s handsome face. 

“You know Michael?” he asks and what?

“Yeah,” Ray answers, sure confusion is staining his voice, “I know a Michael. How do you know- wait, are you the one he’s been super pissed at?” Holly giggles and Sam mouths 'pissed' like it’s a new discovery.

“Super upset with,” Ray corrects quickly.

“He’s told you about me?” Ryan asks, obviously surprised. His eyebrow is raised, completely unperturbed by Sam trying to poke him in the eye. 

“No. I met his soulmate last week. He’s been thinking some not very nice things about you.” 

“I- uh- can’t imagine what I could’ve done,” Ryan answers. He’s smiling a very charming smile but Ray can tell straight away it’s fake. He’s lying. Why is he lying? If it were a normal situation, it’s possible Ray would be blunt enough to ask. He likes digging around in Michael’s personal life. But, with two pairs of eyes watching him unblinkingly, he thinks it’s really not the time. 

“Grab your stuff?” Ryan suggests, “you could come candy shopping with us?” He sounds so earnest that Ray can feel himself nodding even as he tries to calm his racing heart. He nods again foolishly, and grabs for the handles of his basket. His fingers fumble over them, not quite gripping as Ray realises his sleeve has ridden up and the tail end of his words are showing. 

He quickly pulls it back down, trying to see out of the corner of his eye if Ryan had seen. He doesn’t want Ryan to see. He wants to come off as entirely unattached and charmingly single. This plan falters when he finally notices he can see Ryan’s soulmark. It’s just as red as Ray’s - he’d thought that was odd but apparently not - and so cute it makes his throat all tight. 

‘Handsome as a fucking prince,’ the words proclaim. It’s a sentiment Ray agrees with entirely, even having some similar ideas bouncing around in his skull. 

Ryan eyes him and catches him looking. He looks too and his face blanches. “Uh-”

“She seems great,” Ray offers awkwardly. 

Ryan glances from his arm to Ray and back unsurely. “I don’t - I haven’t met my soulmate,” he mutters. 

“Well… seems like she likes you,” Ray tries, just as awkwardly as before. 

Sam and Holly are craning their heads to try and see what the adults are talking about, Sam leaning dangerously over the side of Ryan’s arm. Ray steadies the boy unthinkingly. Ryan stills as he notices, shrugs Sam closer into his body and gives Ray a strange look. It’s a little crinkle eyed and a lot curious and leaves Ray practically breathless. 

Ryan has a soulmate, Ray reminds himself. He wishes Ryan didn’t have one. He still wouldn’t be Ray’s, but Ray doesn’t want him being the guy on his arm. Not that Ryan could be anyway. Ryan’s a hot as fuck DILF trying to wrangle his kids in a supermarket and Ray’s mark is a fucking murderer. They’re so far apart. It’s fairly obvious fate has got it all wrong in that respect. Ray wants to be with someone like Ryan, Ray wants it so bad he thinks he’s already in love with the older man and he met him ten minutes ago in between the vegetable aisle and the pasta aisle in the supermarket. 

Why couldn’t his mark just be Ryan?

Ryan shuffles a step and gestures into the next aisle with his chin. “Coming?” 

“Absolutely.” 

They make their way through the pasta aisle. It’s obvious from the contents of Ryan’s trolley - the one Ray totally failed to notice until Ryan tried to pull it along and was having great difficulty managing with Holly and Sam clinging to him. Ray’d taken pity on him and started wheeling it instead - that the three of them have already been through the aisle. 

There’s two packets of spaghetti in amongst the sack of potatoes and the carton of ripe ruby-red tomatoes. 

Ryan appears to be much better at his shopping thing than Ray. His trolley is at least cohesive and normal and not… eggplants and pineapple.

There’s an inordinate amount of vegetables in the trolley; two bags of spinach, pumpkin, brussel sprouts, some kind of leafy thing that looks like it will immediately cure Ray of his years of soda abuse with a single meal. When asked, Ryan tells him it’s kale and he has to hide it in the rest of the salad for the kids to eat it. Ray hadn’t thought kids ate salad  _ at all. _

Ray takes a fair amount of joy in sneaking things into the trolley whenever the kids distract the older man. He finds dinosaur shaped pasta, takes one for himself and sneaks another in between the kale and spaghetti. He also manages three cans of soup, a packet of lime jelly and couscous. Ryan actually notices that one, but nods like it’s a good addition. Ray doesn’t even know what couscous  _ is _ . 

The kids help him along by attempting to convince Ryan that jelly is all one needs for a healthy diet. 

But then they finish that aisle and it’s sad, until Ray remembers there’s ten more. 

 

By the time they’re approaching the checkout, Ray’s basket is sitting amongst Ryan’s groceries in the trolley and the older man is finally noticing all the stuff that he didn’t put in there. He eyes the kids speculatively but then his eyes slide past and land on Ray who smiles sheepishly. 

He extracts his basket and the twizzlers he accidentally dropped into all of Ryan’s stuff and is about to walk to another checkout when Ryan gently grips his wrist and says, “i’ll pay for it.” 

Now Ray’s had people buy things for him before. Michael’s bought him a cookie every now and then, or a bottle of soda. His parents buy him things but… they have to. This, the forty or so dollars worth of groceries in his basket - maybe closer to sixty with the addition of the eggplant and pineapple - is not something he would expect an almost total stranger to buy for him. 

This must show on his face because Ryan lets him go. Without the hand there, the too large sleeve of Ryan’s hoodie slides down just a bit. Only a tiny bit, but enough for Ray to see ‘he’s’ at the start of his words. Pronouns don’t usually appear unless… unless you’ve proxed. Ray stares at his words. He’s proxed. When the fuck did that happen. 

He looks around. It could be anyone. Anyone in the store could be a fucking murderer. 

“Ray?” Ryan asks, looking all worried. 

It’s cute and distracting enough that Ray goes, “yeah?” as an answer and ends up answering something else entirely  _ apparently _ because Ryan nods and takes the basket from his hands and puts it with the rest of his groceries on the conveyor belt. 

“Are you okay?” Holly asks. Ray nods jerkily and probably unconvincing as shit. His soulmate would probably hurt them if he could. He pulls his sleeve back up, looks up and Sam is bleeding sluggishly from his forehead.  

“Oh my god,” he whispers. Ryan’s head whips up at that. “He’s bleeding.” 

Sam looks up at his father, like he hasn’t noticed and Ryan sighs. “Your bandage fell off,” he murmurs to the boy and oh… Ray remembers that. “Ray, would you mind getting us some plasters. We ran out and it completely slipped my mind when we passed them.” 

Ray mumbles out something affirmative - though even he’s not sure exactly what - and takes off towards the health aisle. He can’t help feeling exposed. Somewhere in this supermarket, or near it, is a murderer. He slides into place, not sure when he started running either but he totally was. He grabs the first packet he sees, and takes off back to Ryan. Ryan makes him feel safe. 

Thrusting the packet of plasters into Ryan’s hand, he crouches to catch his breath. Ryan’s smiling at him.

“Good choice.” 

“What?” 

“Batman.” 

“ _ What?” _

Ryan gestures with the packet and it registers that the plasters are batman themed. 

“Oh, if I ever get injured and there’s a robin one, I want it.”

Ryan ducks his head, possibly in an attempt to hide his cute as shit smile. “Fair enough.” 

The cashier rings them up, Ryan pays - with cash, what the hell - and then he’s wheeling the trolley back out of the store, kids running around at his feet. Ray follows like a nervous, out of place idiot. 

Ryan arrives at his car - a jeep, which is super fucking cool - and pulls open the back. He looks over his shoulder at Ray. 

“Did you walk?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Do you want a ride?” 

Ray’s about to say nah, because he’s an absolute dumbass who, a; is rejecting a safer way home, and b; is rejecting a ride with the hottest man on the fucking planet. He doesn’t quite manage to say anything though before two little voices pipe up. 

“He should have dinner with us.” 

“Oh please have dinner with us!” 

“I ran into you. Dad we should have him for dinner.” 

“Over for dinner,” Ryan corrects absently as he shifts his reusable shopping bags - that he brought with him, what a dad - into the back of the car, “or else it sounds like you’re suggesting cannibalis- wait what?” 

“Ray should have dinner with us.” 

Ryan glances at Ray unsurely, “do you want to?” 

Ray often finds himself in situations where he can disappoint people, and gladly does so. Holly and Sam are staring at him though, with huge eyes and wobbly lower lips. And their dad is also staring at him, with tousled blonde hair, stubble and actual muscle definition. Ray doesn’t think he could disappoint them if he wanted to - and he definitely doesn’t want to. 

“Yeah. I’d love to.” 

Ryan grins and with Ray’s help, finishes packing the shopping away. He shoos Holly from the front seat which makes her glare at Ray and mutter something about ‘mistakes’. Ryan shrugs at him and motions him into the car. 


	4. Chapter 4

It turns out, Ray quite likes driving with Ryan. Holly and Sam insult each other in the back and leave Ray with the excellent opportunity to watch Ryan drive. Ray didn’t realise driving could be attractive - Michael drives, but he’s also Michael. It turns out driving can be very attractive, or at least Ryan can make driving look attractive. He looks confident and handsome and so much like a dad that it makes Ray feel weird to think about it. He’s getting hot over a dad and he’s not even out of highschool. It’s super weird. 

Ryan shoots a crooked smile his way. “What are you thinking about?” he asks. 

Ray blinks. “Uh… it’s probably better if you don’t know.” 

Ryan raises an eyebrow at the road. He doesn’t ask, and if Ray were any less observant he wouldn’t notice the subtle smugness in Ryan’s expression. But he does. He’s just not sure what it means. 

Possibly, Ryan knows Ray was thinking naughty dirty thoughts about him and… it builds his confidence in himself as a person. Or it makes him want to do naughty dirty things back. Ray picks at his jeans. Except Ryan is… well Ryan and Ray is a nerdy teenager who has literally never kissed a single person in his entire life. It’s probably not the second option. 

Ryan glances back over at him. Ray’s staring out the window, so Ryan probably thinks he doesn’t notice. Ray’s watching the reflections though and totally sees. And totally also sees Ryan’s eyes flick down the length of his body before returning to the road. Ray feels his skin flush. 

He just got checked out. Fuck yeah. 

Ray’s wrist twinges and drags him out of his Ryan induced stupor. Oh yeah, soulmates exist. Ryan’s got one and Ray’s got… a murderer. Exciting. 

Ryan pulls into a cul-de-sac, because of course he does. He is a  _ dad  _ after all. He stops the car outside the nicest house on the street. It looks like it cost all of the money Ray’s ever going to make. There’s a veranda and porch chairs and a kid’s bicycle leaning up against the side of the house. 

“Don’t you worry about someone stealing that?” Ray asks, gesturing. Ryan shrugs from where he’s got his head buried in the door at the back of the car. Ray thinks he’s helping Sam out of the car. It has to be Sam because Holly is already out and looking at him very seriously. 

“I pity the fool that tries to steal from  _ my  _ dad,” she informs him solemnly. 

“You watch Mr T with your kids,” he deadpans, “of course.” 

Ryan grins at him, Sam standing beside him. “I wouldn’t be able to call myself a good dad if I didn’t.” 

Sam grins the same grin in Ray’s direction. All Ray really gets from the two identical smiles is that same feeling of weirdness. Ryan is still a dad. Still weird as fuck to be crushing on him. 

Holly prances past, Sam running to keep up as they fight over who gets to get inside the house first. Ryan reminds them pointedly that he still has the key and though Ray expects Holly to pull it out of nowhere, she instead pouts and leans against the wall impatiently. 

“And you guys certainly aren’t coming inside without carrying some groceries,” Ryan calls. Holly rolls her eyes and pouts harder - somehow - stomping back over as Ryan opens the back of the car again. Holly sorts through the bags, finding the light ones and snatching them from Sam. Sam carries one of the heavy ones to the porch and Ryan grabs the remaining four bags in one hand and shuts the boot with his hip. It’s kind of awesome… in a weird dad way. 

He’s trying to keep up with Ryan when his phone buzzes and he fishes it awkwardly from his pocket. Michael’s texted him. 

‘Halo dickhead,’ it reads. 

Ray sends a quick, ‘nah’ followed by, ‘i’m having dinner with Ryan.’ 

Michael’s kind of rubbish at texting. He usually takes forever to answer, so it’s surprising when Ray’s halfway to shoving his phone into his pocket and it buzzes again. 

Ryan’s holding the door open for him and the kids are nowhere to be seen. Ray smiles apologetically and jogs up the steps. “Sorry, I had a text.” 

“Parents?” 

“Nah Michael.”

Ryan raises a brow and smirks, “tell him hi from me.” 

He leads the way into the kitchen which is light and open, lined with white cabinets and peach coloured granite countertops. The whole kitchen seems the size of Ray’s entire house. 

There are stools on one side of the counter island and a sink, stove and ovens on the other side. Ray sits on one of the stools and pulls his phone back out. He’s not sure of the etiquette when one is at someone else’s house and that someone else is a dad, but Ryan seems pretty chill. Even if he does care that Ray’s texting, he’s not liable to tear Ray’s throat out or something. 

Michael’s sent five messages back; 

‘Ryan? What the fuck do you mean Ryan?’ 

‘And what the fuck do you mean dinner?’ 

‘Ray I swear to god.’ 

‘I will end you.’ 

‘Tell me where you are right now and I’ll come get you.’ 

Ray decides to just call him. Michael answers immediately, which is, again, weird for Michael.

“Ray. What Ryan? Which Ryan? I didn’t know you knew a Ryan!” 

“Ryan,” Ray says helplessly, he doesn’t have a last name nor a clue as to why Michael’s being so aggressive. 

Ryan is unpacking the groceries, but holds his hand out for the phone as he sets the kale down on the bench. Ray wrinkles his nose at that. It probably means it’s going in the dinner. 

“Kale is good for you,” Ryan mutters as he takes the phone. “Michael,” he acknowledges. 

Ray’s eyes narrow. In that moment something changed. One second Ryan was talking to Ray and he was the cute dad from the supermarket and then he got on the phone to Michael and his voice deepened just slightly - got a tad more serious. Like he’s talking to a co-worker instead of a friend.  Ray thinks he hears yelling from the phone. And swearing. Michael sounds angry. Seriously angry. Absolutely not how Ray would expect co-workers to talk to each other. 

Ryan rolls his eyes, seemingly unaffected, “Relax. I’m not going to steal your friend. He’s perfectly safe.”

There’s something pointed in that too; the ‘safe’ part. Ray takes it to be reassurance. Michael, if the undefinable yelling is anything to go by, takes it to be something else entirely. 

“Michael, I have to cook dinner. For Ray and my  _ kids _ . Now is not the best time.”

He hands Ray back his phone, pulling more vegetables out and laying them down. They’re going to be having salad, Ray just knows. 

“Michael?” Ray asks into the phone. 

“You’ve met his kids?” Michael asks back, sounding both resigned and weirded out. 

“Yeah. I ran into them in the supermarket. I don’t think Holly likes me,” he laughs.

Michael doesn’t laugh. “Holly?” 

Ryan sighs. “He hasn’t met them.”

“His daughter. Look I really do have to go. I need to sneak something that isn’t green into dinner.” 

Michael takes a deep breath and Ray knows it’s going to be an outburst so he hangs up. He slips his phone into his pocket and finds Ryan watching him. 

“Why is he so against me knowing you?” 

“Because I’m devilishly handsome and he’s worried I’ll steal you away,” Ryan suggests. 

Ray laughs and drops it. Whatever it is, he’s sure it’s not important. 

 

“That is not how you cut kale,” Ryan observes, watching Ray hack into the greenery. “I’m not sure that’s how anything is cut.” 

“I’m hoping if I mutilate it enough you won't use it,” Ray retorts. 

Suddenly, Ryan’s a heavy presence behind him, warm and close and his breath is soft against Ray’s neck. The presence of his hand covering Ray’s on the knife is entirely too much and Ray has to close his eyes tight and swear lowly just to keep from getting hard.

“Here,” Ryan says, moving Ray’s hand with his own. Ray realises distantly that Ryan’s trying to show him how to cut the kale but he can’t focus on much more than how Ryan feels. They’re not touching anywhere except Ray’s hand on the knife, but they’re so close they practically  _ are _ . 

Ray’s contemplating what will happen if he simply leans back into Ryan’s heat. The older man would probably freak out. But he is the one holding Ray’s hand. And he did check Ray out blatantly in the car. Ray could just step back, stumble, make it look like an accident. Equally he could turn around, press himself against Ryan and drag him into a stubbly awesome kiss. 

He could also always be an awkward shit and do neither, just stand a hair's breadth away from Ryan and shiver like a moron. He’s about to go with the third when Ryan’s free hand lands gently on his hip and wow. If he thought the hand on his own was a burning point of contact, this one is scorching, raging and roaring into his skin. 

He whimpers softly, ashamed at himself for making such a noise until Ryan breathes out a shaky breath and turns his head into Ray’s throat, lips barely brushing the skin. 

Then he’s gone, across the kitchen. He takes his knife, deftly cutting through pumpkin like it’s water. Ray makes a confused noise, desperately hard. Ryan smirks and presses a finger to his lips. 

There’s a patter of feet outside the kitchen, broken as Sam runs into the room. He climbs onto the stool Ray sat on before, staring at them with huge eyes. 

“Holly found a knife,” he informs them. Ryan’s out the door before the sentence even really registers in Ray’s mind. 

“A kitchen knife?” Ray asks in the wake of silence left by Ryan’s departure. 

Sam eyes the one he’s holding. “It doesn’t look like that,” he decides. 

“Oh?” 

“It’s bigger.” 

He hears laughing from upstairs, cut abruptly into silence. And then, “Holly you know you don’t touch those. Give it to me - no not by the blade.” 

There are more footsteps and then Holly appears in the doorway. She looks thoroughly chagrined.

“He’s mad,” she reports. Sam snorts. 

“Of course he is. You know you shouldn’t touch those.” 

“You ratted me out,” she realises, angrily. 

“It’s a good thing he did Holly,” Ryan interrupts, coming through the doorway, “they’re not toys. They’re dangerous.” 

“You’re letting Ray use a knife.” 

“That’s different.” 

Holly seems upset, but quickly perks up when Ryan puts a movie on for them. Ray thinks it might be Mulan. Either way, the kids are still in sight and Ray curses the lack of opportunity to ask Ryan what the fuck was going on before and can they do it again. 

Ryan goes back to murdering his pumpkins and, resigned, Ray goes back to mutilating his kale. 

“Are salads normal in this house?” 

“Yeah, means the kids eat well. It’s hard sometimes, getting them to. Holly’s usually fine, but Sam has his soulmark already and the kid he’s connected to is obsessed with sweets. It’s all they ever seem to think about.” 

Ray blinks. “He has it already?”

“Yeah.” 

“How old is he?” 

“They’re both five.” 

“That’s early. I got mine like a week ago.” 

“Yeah. Me too,” Ryan nods. 

Ray nods with him absently until the words sink in and, “ _ what? _ ”

“I got mine about a week ago.” 

“How old are you?” 

“Twenty-seven,” Ryan answers, which makes him a two percenter. Ray appraises him. He doesn’t look like one. They’re all decrepit usually and not… perfection.

“You look good for a two percenter,” Ray comments stupidly, cursing his mouth as soon as the words are gone. 

Ryan smirks, so Ray thinks - hopes - he isn’t offended. 

 

They cook together in comfortable silence for a long while, Ryan laughing whenever he sets Ray to a task and then actually sees him doing it. 

At one point, as Ray’s halfway through defending his brussel sprout preparing skills, Ryan shoots a long look in the direction of the tv, where the kids are half asleep. Ray’s making a metaphor about gaming and how it relates to brussel sprouts and he thinks maybe he’ll bring up the black plague and try to relate it to Ryan’s faith in him. He does not expect Ryan to suddenly be so close. His brain shuts down. He vaguely recognises that Ryan’s kissing him softly on the cheek and catches the words “you’re adorable,” as Ryan murmurs them in his ear and then Ryan’s gone. He’s back at the stove, multitasking and Ray just stares at his brussel sprouts and tries to remember how to breathe. 

It seems fairly clear to him that Ryan might be interested too. But that’s just speculation. 

 

Sam and Holly seem inordinately excited for dinner. Ray doesn’t understand it; they’re having  _ salad. _ Sure it looks like nice salad, in amongst the spinach and hacked up kale there are soft pieces of pumpkin, misshapen brussel sprouts, a dressing Ryan fucking  _ made _ with cinnamon and oranges. And then there’s nuts as well, sprinkled over the top. 

It looks like food that would be served at a nice buffet, but it’s still just salad.

The kids set the table, wandering around with placemats and having a duel with the cutlery. Ryan doesn’t bat an eye as Holly brandishes the butter knife, so whatever knife she’d had before must’ve been huge. 

“Aren’t you worried they’ll hurt each other?” Ray asks quietly. Ryan’s serving the food and graciously sets Ray to drink pouring duty. 

“God I hope so,” Ryan whispers back playfully, giving Ray a light nudge with his shoulder. 

Eating with Ryan and his kids is kinda fucking weird. But it’s also nice. It makes Ray feel all warm inside, in a way eating with his own family does not. It’s  _ domestic _ and Ray never even considered he’d enjoy something domestic but here he is, enjoying it regardless of his preconceived notions.

The kids are oblivious to Ray’s quiet realisation of how nice it all is. They’re talking over each other at Ryan, asking him so many questions that he attempts to answer but mostly just shakes his head and laughs. When Ray chances a glance up from his plate, he finds Ryan watching him. There’s something in his expression that tells Ray that Ryan knows exactly how nice he’s finding it. 

There’s something about his fucking face in general that Ray has a hard time turning away from. It’s not just that he’s attractive, though holy shit he is, he also looks understanding and nice and every bit the comfort Ray needs right now. 

As if to remind him of his actual options, his mark flares. It’s not like Ray can fucking forget though. Even if his wrist wasn’t smouldering through with strange heat, he would still know how fucked he is. How massively fucked. 

His soulmate’s a murderer. 

Ray takes another bite of pumpkin and blinks back wetness as it pools in his eyes. A murderer. And Ray can’t get involved in that, and he surely can’t get involved with Ryan and his  _ kids.  _ Not when that could land them in just as much danger as Ray’s in. 

“I have to go,” he says, standing abruptly. His chair wobbles with the movement, but doesn’t fall over. 

Ryan pauses in whatever he’d been saying and his eyes fix on Ray’s own. He frowns. 

“... I’ll drive you.” 

“No,” Ray objects, “You stay here. I just - it’s been really nice Ryan, really it has but I need to leave.” 

Before Ryan can say something heart-melting, Ray takes off. He grabs his bag from beside the door and slips out the hardwood before he can change his mind. 

It’s better this way. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is shorter I think. Maybe. It's hard to tell. But yes, sorry if it's shorter. 
> 
> Enjoy.

 

‘He’s adorable.’ 

Ray bandages his arm over his mark and keeps that arm under freezing cold water until it’s so numb he can’t even feel the twinges of it changing. He just wants it to go away. 

 

* * *

Michael ambushes him on his way to school the next morning. He’s not even on the concrete stairs that lead up to the entrance when Michael leaps out of fucking nowhere and tackles him into a bush.

It’s a thorny bush, built for ripping holes in his clothing and leaving scratches on his skin. Ray pushes Michael off of him and sits up, wincing at the thorn stuck in his palm. Michael on the other hand curses loudly, a chant that ends up as, “holy motherfucking shit, this fucking hurts! Jesus Christ! I hate nature and everything it fucking stands for!” He pauses, sucks in a deep breath and pulls a thorn from his cheek, prompting another wave of screaming; “motherfucking, cock-sucking, cunt-licking son of a bitch!” 

Ray rolls his eyes. He’s used to the bush of doom. He gets pushed into the damn thing every three days or so by half-brained jocks. Michael’s reputation has apparently earned him bush safety. 

Ray climbs out, helped along by a gangly stretch of tan arm. The arm reveals itself to be attached to Gavin who winces at him and brushes him off vaguely. 

“Bush of Doom,” he sympathises. 

“What the holy fuck?” Michael warbles, still just as loud. Ray’s half surprised no teachers have heard and come to investigate. 

Gavin’s mouth twists into a strange half-smile. “Is that Michael?” he asks redundantly. 

Ray shrugs, pretty sure Michael’s call of, “sweet fucking baby Jesus! Someone help me!” will serve as a good enough response. 

Gavin eyes the bush, as if trying to decide whether or not it’s worth it. Ray thinks it definitely fucking isn’t. Michael tackled himself in there, he can get himself out. Gavin doesn’t seem to care though, yelling, “i’ll save you Mi-Coo!” and jumping on in. 

There’s even more swearing at that, until abruptly there isn’t and Ray decides this is probably his cue to go inside.

 

He’s in second lesson when Michael tries to ambush him again. He’s got a Star Wars plaster over his right cheek and Ray isn’t sure why that makes him feel sad until he remembers Ryan and his kids and sneaking dino shaped pasta into the older man’s trolley and the way his stubble had felt along Ray’s ear. 

“ _ Ryan!?”  _ Michael hisses in what is probably his best attempt at being quiet. 

The teacher, across the other side of the room turns and frowns at them. Ray waits until she looks away to push Michael’s elbows off  _ his  _ desk and out of his personal space.

“He’s nice,” Ray mumbles and thinks he can feel his cheeks flushing.

Michael gapes at him. “He’s  _ nice? Ryan!? Are we even talking about the same Ryan?”  _

Ray rolls his eyes. Michael knows damn well they’re talking about the same Ryan. As such, Ray doesn’t answer. 

Michael gapes even harder somehow. “You like him. You  _ like  _ him. You like  _ him? _ What the fuck Ray? He’s… he’s like forty.” 

“Twenty-seven,” Ray corrects automatically. 

“You asked him? Whatever. It doesn’t matter. He’s  _ Ryan _ .” 

Ray feels like something in him snaps. He’s not sure why he’s so attached to Ryan already, why it feels like Ryan is the best person he’ll ever meet, why Ryan feels so right. He’s not sure why, but that doesn’t make him any less angry when Michael says Ryan’s name like it’s poison. 

“He’s  _ your _ friend,” Ray snaps, far louder than he’d meant to, “and yes, I fucking like him. How you can know him and not like him is beyond me. He’s nice and funny and is far more mature than you’re being right now.” 

The class is silent, save for Michael’s hissed, “damn right he’s more mature. He’s  _ nine years older than me.” _

Ray glares, Michael glares back and the teacher clears her throat uncomfortably. “Are you two quite finished? I do have a class to teach.” 

“Yeah,” Ray mumbles, still locked into a glare off with Michael. He blinks, throat feeling impossibly tight with the words he isn’t saying. The (it doesn’t matter anyway. I’m destined to be with a fucking murderer, not him, and even if fate hadn’t fucked me over and had given me him instead, I still wouldn’t be fucking good enough) words that make him feel so hollow inside and so unbelievably scared at the same time. (He’s not good enough for a soulmate like Ryan. He’s not even good enough for an average soulmate. He’s good enough for the cesspool of humanity, for a murderer, and they probably won't want him too.) 

Ray blinks harder, blinks back a warm wetness from his eyes and through the blur can see Michael’s own honey coloured eyes widen. 

“Yeah,” Ray repeats, “I’m finished. I’m done,” and he gets up, slings his bag he didn’t get a chance to unpack over his shoulder and leaves. The teacher calls after him but he doesn’t turn and he doesn’t stop and all he can think is  _ not good enough not good enough, I’m gonna die and it’s cause I’m not good enough, but maybe that’s okay because I’m not good enough for life anyway.  _

 

 

* * *

 

 

Michael sits back in his seat, staring at the open doorway. He’d had so many more things to say to Ray, probably which first and foremost should’ve been ‘Ryan’s a murderer. Ryan’s your soulmate. Ryan is your soulmate, you know, the murderer?’ 

But Michael can’t tell Ray any of that without explaining  _ how _ he knows. And he just can’t explain that. Not to Ray. He can’t even really explain it to himself. 

So he meant to say things like, ‘Ryan’s not a good idea. He’s too old for you. He has kids. It’s not going to work.’ He didn’t think it would make Ray cry. But it did. As much as Ray was keeping calm composure, the pooling wetness in his eyes was obvious. 

Fuck.

Michael isn’t really sure what exactly it was that made Ray tear up. He’s not really an emotional guy, and Ray crying at all is a little baffling. Michael doesn’t think he’s ever seen it. He’s seen Ray upset and that has an easy solution; find and beat up the motherfucker who upset him, but in this case that motherfucker is Michael and somehow he doesn’t think beating himself up will help. 

Or maybe it would. Who knows.

 

Regardless, he tries to seek advice from the only people he can. Geoff and Gavin. 

Geoff gets filled in on the situation and sits there with a raised eyebrow for about ten minutes before whistling long and low and saying, “that’s hardcore, man.”

And the conversation with Gavin is so stilted and awkward with all the things he can’t say that Gavin offers, “sounds like Ray and Ryan would be great together,” and Michael wants to punch him so much, he sends him home. It’s not his fault really. It’s a logical response to Michael’s, “Ray can’t be with his soulmate cause… he can’t. And Ryan’s too old for him, and he has kids, and it just wouldn’t work. Ray seems real into him, and he just  _ can’t.” _

Geoff does offer a little insight hours after when he’s drunk and lying on the floor. He starts out mumbling, but the mumbles quickly become words; “Imagine that though… Imagine knowing your soulmate’s a murderer. Your soulmate… The one, you know? The one person for you. The person you are fated to be with and they kill people. What does that say about you?”

 

* * *

 

Ray’s mother enters his room in that hesitant way she does when she doesn’t want to punish him but knows she has to. 

She fidgets and bites her lip and obviously wants Ray to say something first, perhaps an apology or an explanation. But Ray’s had a shit day and he’s not gonna make this fucking easy for her. 

He watches her over the screen of his laptop, watches as she stands there, as she sighs, as she shuffles towards his bed, perches herself on the end. 

“You skipped,” she finally offers. It sounds a little like a question, a  _ give me an explanation young man  _ kind of question.

“Yeah,” Ray agrees and tries to busy himself in his laptop. It’s a piece of shit though and takes forever to load anything so he sits, glaring at it, as it remains infuriatingly on his desktop. 

“Why?” she sighs, after nothing more follows. 

“Wanted to,” Ray mumbles. 

She sighs again, perhaps meaning it to be some sort of guilt trip. Usually it would work, but Ray’s just angry and confused and tired. 

“Is this about your soulmark?” she asks, “because you’ll get one. Everyone gets one.” 

“I don’t want one,” Ray mutters. 

“Of course you do, baby. Why wouldn’t you?” 

Ray snorts, his laptop finally playing the Zelda theme song from it’s tinny speakers. The game itself hasn’t loaded, but it’s good to see the machine’s doing  _ something.  _ “What if I get someone awful?” he says after a long pause. 

“You wouldn’t,” she assures. 

“Yeah sure. But what if I did.  _ Everyone gets one,  _ ma.  _ Everyone _ . Even the people out there who aren’t good; the thieves and the people who play rogue in D&D, and the  _ murderers.  _ What if I got one of them?”

She eyes him cautiously. “Has something happened at school? I heard about that girl. Has something like that happened again?” 

“No. I just- it could happen.”

She smiles. “There’s no need to worry. You’re such a good boy, you’d never get someone bad. Your soulmate completes you.”

“So what about that girl then? The one who went crazy. What did Lindsay do to deserve that?”

His mother sighs, yet a-fucking-gain, “there are some bad eggs out there.”

“I could get a bad egg.” 

“You won't Ray. Have some faith.” 

Ray wants to argue but she’s already getting up and dusting herself off, preparing to leave. She glances at him as she reaches the door. “You’re grounded for skipping by the way. Two weeks.” 

The moment she’s gone, Ray pulls his sleeve up, peels off the bandage and feels his heart sink as he realises it’s still there. He hadn’t felt it change all day, naively thought he’d managed to wish it away. 

‘Don’t think,’ it reads, in it’s scratchy, blood red scrawl. His soulmate’s probably off killing someone again, trying to hide it from him. 

 

Maybe if he holds it under the water for longer this time, it’ll wash away. Wash away and be gone forever. It’s worth a shot anyway. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael time!

\- Months before - 

 

Michael’s in a brutal game of GTA when his mother collapses. He has no idea. She’s a room over and his headphones are blocky, expensive, noise cancelling. Instead of hearing the dull thud of her hitting the floor, he hears a nasally stranger curse creatively at his best friend. 

Ray laughs, not meanly, and reminds the kid that it’s only a game. And then, quite meanly, tells him not to get his panties in a twist. 

Michael chuckles and hurls an explosive into a group of players. They scatter. Ray picks them off one by one from a high rise building down the street. They have a system that mostly relies on Michael being reckless and Ray being fucking great at the game - any game. 

“I’m gonna get a sandwich,” Michael proclaims, shoving his headphones off his ears and rising from his half-stuffed bean bag. There’s a small noise from them, like Ray’s saying, “that’s fine,” or, “go fuck yourself,” or, “hey, yeah Michael. By the way, I got my soulmate and fuck I think it’s you bro.” He has no idea, but figures it won't be anything as Earth shattering as that last revelation. 

He walks out the door, halfway to the kitchen when he stops and turns and walks back. 

His mother’s unconscious, lying on the hardwood and breathing very very shallowly. 

“What the fuck?” Michael breathes, shocked into stillness. All at once he tugs out his phone and rushes over, kneeling down and wondering whether he should try shake her awake or CPR or… fuck he doesn’t know. 

9-1-1 picks up and he tries to ask them what he’s meant to do. 

“Keep calm sir,” a woman’s voice says, “we’re sending an ambulance to your location.” 

Michael nods. It’ll be fine. It’ll be good. It’ll…

“Uh,” he chokes out. They can’t afford a fucking ambulance… but his mums on the floor and hardly breathing and he - he has to. “Yeah okay. Yeah.” 

They’ll work it out. 

 

-

 

He taps his feet, jiggles his knee, counts tiles, His headphones are not his own boxy ones, but Geoff’s little ones he’d borrowed a couple of nights ago. They’re tinny and crackly and oddly enough seem to suit the equally crappy waiting room. 

He hates it here. The nurse keeps coming by to update him on his mum and he fucking wishes she’d stop. He’s bitten his nails to nothing. 

She keeps talking about tests and more tests and he knows they can’t afford any of it. But he has to keep nodding and saying, ‘yeah do them’, cause it’s his mum. Then he has to sit there and worry not only about her, but how they’ll survive afterwards when they’re up to their ears in debt and can’t fucking feed themselves.

His eyes keep being drawn to this fish tank in the corner. It’s big and bright and full of coral, nemo fish, wavering plants. He wants to hurl it to the ground and stomp on the bright glass pieces until there’s blood everywhere. It’s a fucking joke.  His mum is gonna have to pay out the fucking ass for her tests and what will the hospital spend it on? This bullshit? A couple more nemo fish to make the kiddies happy? 

He’s full on glaring at the fishtank when someone sits beside him. He grumbles. If it’s that fucking nurse again- 

“Hey Michael,” Geoff says, wearing that dopey, lopsided grin he likes so much. 

Michael blinks. “Geoff?” He hadn’t called anyone.

“You look like you are having a not great night,” Geoff notes. He places a loose grip around Michael’s elbow. “You should come steal coffee with me.” 

Michael finds himself nodding. Coffee does kind of sound great right now. Especially as the nurse is coming back round the corner.

Geoff pulls him to stand, offers the nurse a skeptical up and down as she pauses open mouthed beside them, and drags him away. 

“What are you doing here?” Michael asks as they walk. 

“My friend works here,” Geoff says, shrugging. “At the gift shop.” 

“Ah,” Michael goes. He didn't even know there was a gift shop. 

 

“Jack,” Geoff calls the moment they enter the too bright, too friendly shop. A huge bearded man behind the counter lifts an eyebrow at them. He gives Michael a quick once-over and shoots Geoff a look that clearly says  _ really? _

Michael shrinks back and Geoff scoffs, yanking him forward. “I’m not fucking sleeping with him,” Geoff chastises.

Michael thinks maybe Geoff’s talking to him until the bearded guy nods and goes, “if you say so.” 

“Two coffees,” Geoff exclaims, “on the house, of course. I want whiskey in mine.” He gives Michael a calculating look. “Actually, whiskey all round.”

Jack grumbles but disappears into the back of the shop. 

“What’s eating you?” Geoff asks, and it’s such a strange question for a hospital. It’s such a strange situation at all; Geoff and the overly happy giftshop while his mother’s in some fucking room, unconscious, doctors prodding at her. 

Michael laughs, can’t help it. He thinks he might be hysterical but that’s okay. He’s stressed and angry and he’s allowed to break down - just a bit, just for right now. 

“My mother…” he starts and doesn’t know where to go from there. The nurse has been coming out all fucking night to talk to him and hasn’t once told him what happened, or what’s actually wrong. Just  _ sign here sir. We need to perform another test. If you keep signing, eventually your mother will be healthy and you can leave.  _ “Fuck, I don’t know. I have no idea.” 

“Yeah,” Geoff muses, “they can be like that.”

“What?” 

“Hospital staff. It’s like they speak in riddles - or money. Something.” 

Michael frowns. “Are you drunk?”

“Not yet,” Geoff groans, “soon though. Yeah.” 

He reaches out and takes a mug from the larger bearded man who returned silently and without Michael realising. 

Geoff takes a long sip as Michael reaches for his own mug. Having secured it, he looks up to study the unfamiliar man. “What was your name again?” 

“Jack.” 

“How do you and Geoff know each other?”

“Went to school with him. BFF’s or whatever. You?”

Michael opens his mouth and finds he doesn’t have an answer. “You know, I actually have no idea how we met. It’s like he’s always just been there.” 

Jack offers a fond smile. “He’s kind of like that.” 

 

The nurse does manage to find him again, except by the time she does he’s well and truly not sober and is laugh-crying into Jack’s shoulder.

“Sir,” she says, “I’m afraid I’ll need you to-”

“What is it?” Michael interrupts. “Another test? Another couple grand you want me to pull out of my ass? Why do you keep  _ asking  _ me? Just go fucking do them, whatever you need to do. Come get me when I can actually see my mum.” 

The nurse gapes at him, opens and closes her mouth and spins on her heel, walks away. 

Geoff starts laughing. “You told her, boy. You fucking told her.” 

Michael’s anger fizzles out in a mere moment and he mourns it, puts his head in his hands. “We’re never gonna be able to afford it. We’ll never get out of debt.” 

“Money, Michael?” Geoff exclaims, “you’re worried about  _ money?  _ Don’t worry. I’ll hook you up. I’ll-” 

“Geoff,” Jack cuts in, sounding… alarmed?

Geoff ignores him. “You’ll get all the money Michael. So much money. I have this guy. Don’t worry. I got you.”

 

-

 

The first bill comes and Michael’s tried, he’s tried so hard to be ready. But the truth is, he’s still getting his mum settled, he’s still trying to deal with how he’s supposed to look after her, he’s still staring at the pamphlets the hospital gave him trying to work out how they’re meant to afford any of it. He’s not ready at all. 

It takes a couple of days of no electricity for Michael to remember what Geoff said. He hasn’t heard anything since, but he hopes like hell and calls him. 

Geoff mostly hums and makes noises that sound like nods as he listens. He doesn’t offer any sympathies or advice. At the end of Michael’s rambling speech he simply says, “what would you be willing to do?”

Michael pauses, glances at his mother’s bedroom door and says, “anything.”

He hadn’t expected anything to be this; Geoff sitting beside him on the hood of his car, a cloying scent of alcohol stuck to his clothes, saying, “we’re a little like bounty hunters, ‘cept we don’t work for the law and we get paid a hell of a lot more.” He eyes Michael. “This shit ain’t legal.”

“So we apprehend criminals-” 

“People, sure.”

“... people. And we do what with them? Turn them in?”

Geoff wavers. “You can’t tell anyone about this.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Promise?”

“Promise,” Michael agrees, though he’s pretty sure he shouldn’t. 

Geoff sighs, eyes him again, pulls out his flask and takes a deep swig. “We kill them.”

“What!?”

“We kill them,” Geoff repeats. 

“Oh.” Michael feels a little cold, numb, lost, a ranging multitude of four-letter words all spiraling around him, pulling this way and that. They want him to bend, they want him to be  _ cold, numb, lost, done.  _ But Michael’s already had enough of the pulling; the bills and the guilt and the ever-present crushing fear. He can’t bend to it anymore. 

“I’m in.”

Geoff looks surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“You can’t tell anyone.”

“I know.”

“Not even Ray.”

“I know.”

 

\- Now - 

 

Their murder trysts aren’t exactly scheduled. Ryan says that would make it too obvious, too obvious that people are being murdered instead of just going missing. 

Every once in awhile - once a fortnight or so - Ryan sends them a text with a time and a place. They meet, he provides targets, they prowl, they find, they torture and kill and bury and cry late at night wondering why on earth they’re doing this and why it feels so right and why they just can’t stop… Or maybe that’s just Michael. 

Regardless, it’s a school night and far earlier than Michael would’ve imagined a text to come through. They went out five days ago. 

The message simply names a carpark and a time - midnight. 

Michael is suddenly and absolutely sure it’s a trap. He texts Geoff to make sure he too got a text. He receives back a picture of Geoff’s face, heavily blurred but smiling and holding a thumbs up. 

All right then. Maybe it’s not a trap. Michael’s still dubious, but he really does need the money. The bills are no longer a pile on the kitchen counter, growing and growing, but they aren’t gone either. And he can’t help the sick excitement coiling inside him at the very idea of the late night prowl. It should make him feel sick, it should make him run far far away from Ryan. 

It doesn’t. 

 

-

 

“Hey,” Michael says, approaching Geoff’s car. He aptly named it the ‘murder-mobile’ and refuses to let Michael in if he doesn’t call it that. Geoff grins back at him, but Michael isn’t even looking. He’s glaring right at Ryan, the man leaning back against the car’s bonnet, “what the fuck?” 

Ryan tilts his head a little, consideringly. “Shall we head off?” he asks. His mask’s pushed off to the side of his face, revealing a slice of dark pink mouth, bright teeth and one cold blue eye. There’s something about the sharp length of jaw that makes Ryan seem a little more human... and a little more scary. 

For the first time Michael’s seeing the man who did all those horrifying things, rather than the mask.

“Oh sure,” Michael mocks, ignoring his pounding heartbeat and stepping closer threateningly, “let’s. But how about first you explain to me what the fuck you’re doing with Ray.”

Ryan pauses, remains quiet for a long long time. Long enough for Geoff to get bored and twist open a bottle of whiskey. Ryan moves at that, enough to glance over his shoulder at Geoff until Geoff twists the lid back on and puts the bottle down.

His gaze travels back to Michael and he lets out a noise that sounds suspiciously like a sigh. “Leave it Michael,” he finally mutters. 

“I’m not-” 

“ _ I’m not _ going to hurt him,” Ryan interrupts, grinding his teeth like he can’t believe the words leaving his mouth. “Not right now anyway. I’ll let you know if that changes.” 

Michael can’t help gaping at the larger man. “You’ll  _ let me know!? What the fuck?” _

Ryan shrugs. “Can’t predict the future,” he mutters darkly and, while Michael’s trying to think of something (anything) to say in response to  _ that _ , pushes himself effortlessly off the car’s chilled dark bonnet and walks over to the door. 

“Shotgun,” he says over his shoulder with this teasing grin that Michael can’t help but blink at, thinking  _ oh, that’s what Ray sees in him.  _

Michael gets in the car. 

 

-

 

Geoff drives like a lunatic usually, all wide turns and supersonic speeds. With Ryan beside him, Geoff drives like he’s trying to pass his full licence test; hands positioned perfectly, seatbelts every time, not a single turn too fast or too wide or too anything. Michael’s pretty sure the mumbling Geoff starts up is actually a list of the dangers of the road as they pass them. 

_ We’re coming up to a parked car, a child could easily run out from behind there. I’ll slow down just to be sure. _

_ There’s a cone on the side of the road. That could indicate a roadwork area coming up. I’ll slow down preemptively.  _

_ There’s a leaf over there. Seems shifty. Could be dangerous. I’ll slow it on down.  _

“Geoff,” Ryan says evenly, “while I appreciate your efforts at not being pulled over by the police, we do actually have people we need to murder tonight.” 

“Right,” Geoff mumbles and the speedo needle rises incrementally. 

“These people are in Houston,” Ryan continues, “which is two hours away.” 

“Of course,” Geoff agrees. The needle rises another millimeter. 

“Geoff…” Ryan tries again. 

“If you have a fucking issue with how I drive, you can drive yourself,” Geoff snarls, pulling sharply on the wheel. The car doesn’t pull over so much as it hurtles itself into a bush. 

“Well,” Michael says brightly into the silent aftermath, “at least we were only going twenty-one miles an hour. That coulda been real nasty.” 

Ryan sighs. Geoff sighs. The car seems to sigh and then protest as Geoff turns the key to get it going again. It splutters for a few seconds but sure enough, the murder-mobile starts rumbling happily to itself and Geoff reverses them out of the bush, back onto the road. 

“Stick to the speed limit,” Ryan advises.

“Shut up,” Geoff grumbles and, with that, they’re back to it. 

 

-

 

Michael gets home at near four in the morning, covered in dirt and blood and, weirdly enough, almost an entire bottle of lubricant. His mum’s back in the hospital so he expects to open the door to an empty house. Instead he opens the door and the light flicks on. 

Gavin’s sitting on the chair in the front hall, watching him. His eyes track up and down Michael’s body and he frowns. 

“Gavin-” Michael says, scrambling to think of any sort of explanation. 

“Are you fucking the corpses Michael?” Gavin asks before he can get any explanation out, “cause that’s kinda gross.”

Michael gapes. “What?” He chokes out a half laugh, continues in a tone a few pitches higher than normal, “corpses, Gavin what?  _ Corpses.  _ Don’t be ridiculous - that’s… that’s-”

Gavin rolls his eyes and stands from his chair. “I know Michael. Don’t be daft, of course I know.”

Michael swallows. “Geoff told you.”

“Yeah.”

“Why would he - I - why would he  _ tell you that? _ I - it’s not what you think Gavin. I don’t - I don’t know what Geoff told you… about me… but-” 

Gavin steps towards him. It’s not threatening. It’s almost the opposite, Gavin’s hands up placatingly. But still, Michael steps back. He’s off balance, isn’t sure how to deal with Gavin knowing about all of the terrible things he’s done. 

“I already knew Michael. I knew what you did even before we proxed. I knew Geoff did it before you were even a part of it.” 

“Then what - why are you ambushing me in my hallway?” Michael asks. He had sort of assumed Gavin had come to accuse him and break up with him and maybe call the police. 

Gavin shrugs, looking almost bashful. “I thought you might want some company,” he offers.  _ I thought you wouldn’t want to be alone.  _

Michael stares. He - he can’t quite believe it. “I - okay,” he mumbles and Gavin just holds out his hand, waits for Michael to take it. 

Michael does. He feels numb, can barely feel where his hand meets Gavin’s. Finding out Gavin was his soulmate had been immense. It had been everything, but all at the wrong time. 

And then he’d had it in the back of his mind.  _ Gavin. Gavin. Have to tell Gavin. What if Gavin finds out? What do I do? _

All for nothing. All for this; Gavin’s easy acceptance. The Brit leading him to his bedroom, mumbling about washcloths and, “maybe you guys can Dexter it up next time. Fuck, I mean,  _ how  _ are you even this bloody? And why the everlasting hell are you covered in lube?” 

Michael laughs. “Holy fuck, I love you,” he says. 

Gavin goes quiet, stops dabbing his face with the washcloth. “I - uh - I don’t think this is working,” he declares, hurling the washcloth aside. “Let’s raise the stakes. How do you feel about a shower?”

“Gavin,” Michael says, reaching for his hands, “I love you.”

“Yeah I know, asshole. Love you too. Now shut up and get moving.” 

“Gavin,” Michael repeats petulantly. 

“If you’re in that shower within ten seconds, I’ll join you,” Gavin suggests. 

The sentence takes half a second to resonate with Michael, and it takes half a second more for him to be up off his bed, moving fast towards the bathroom. He tries to drag Gavin along but the Brit just slows him down, so Michael lets go. 

Five seconds later Gavin peeks his head into the bathroom. 

Michael grins. He’s in the shower. He may not be undressed and the water may be freezing, but he’s in the fucking shower. “You promised,” he grouses when Gavin shakes his head. 

“That’s just silly Michael,” Gavin complains but he’s grinning too, already stripping his shirt over his head.

It's all too easy to forget. 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos, comment, leave ideas. Love hearing from y'all. Will definitely update this, don't worry.


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